the timboucher experience

Springsteen’s early work focuses almost exclusively on the carnival lifestyle of the boardwalk. Atlantic City, the Ferris Wheel (of Fortune), tales of small-time hustlers, con-artists, crooks and romantic Shakespearean street heroes. The beach, the ocean winds blowing, the great deep, where all lost souls go to die and be reborn. Stella Maris, listen Mary… he’s always talking to Mary. O mother of nightmares, O queen of the deep. The life of the traveling performer, the rover, the rambler is subject to these rules, these guides images, icons and archetypes. These energies which have driven the restless nomad from his home for long ages, to follow after the herds, the Great Hunt, the song of the Open Road. O my wounded heart, o my sorrowful soul. Where do we go from here? What stars light our way? What rules govern existence – or subsistence – in this realm?

Love may be the light, but money fuels the fire. Hustling, running, traffic upon traffic. Working or avoiding work at all costs. Being intentionally poor because it gives you some way to distinguish yourself in a culture dedicated to gain, you don’t have to sleep on the street poor soldier anymore. For the poor artist, the destitute dreamer, lies listening at the door of transcendence, waiting for his cue to come. Darkness upon darkness. Until something rouses you from your slumber, love born of desperation, clinging to images of love and security drawn subconsciously from childhood half-remembrances, having to overcome them with drugs, painting and self-inflicted occult psychotherapy. You stand in the cold light of emptiness, alone, uncontrived, steady, calm. Hands no longer shaking. Eyes sunk so far in they’ve awakened a kind of spiritual vision. You want to walk with me down this road? Be prepared for paranoia. Be prepared for midnight terrors. Cold sweats, shakes, fevers, drawn-out tantrums, long sleepy doldrums. The road is ice, the road is fire. Where is your career going? What do you do to chase after it? What do you decide to hold onto, forget and remember?

I dreamt not to long ago that a member of my current troupe, my tribe and temporary family bought at auction many boxes of old comic books I’d cherished as a child. Had not see them in many years, and as we leafed through them, I discovered drawings made in my youth. They made me happy and I immediately ripped them to pieces. Faulkner said you must kill your darlings. An artist can’t afford to hold onto what he once was, what he once created. Krishna counsels Arjuna in the Gita to surrender the fruits of his actions. It’s the same thing, to constantly reinvent yourself, to divorce and disrupt your own self-images, projecting ever forward the light which radiates out of one’s heart. If you follow it ruthlessly, you’ll get somewhere, though you may walk in darkness and you may walk alone.

• Getting back on the road . . . sort of
• Return to traditional family values
• Montreal or Bust!
• If you ain’t gettin’ any
• Baltimore Bike Lanes